


To Kill a Titan

by CreeDeluje



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, OC characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreeDeluje/pseuds/CreeDeluje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically we both added our own OC's that live in the world. She is at least taking a break but I wanted to upload them anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air is thick with the smell of warm manure. I glare at the cart behind me as I ride across the countryside. Today I am playing merchant, which means I’ll be trading the contents of this cart for vegetables and other much needed supplies once I reach town. Normally it isn’t this bad. Then again, normally the merchandise isn’t literally a cart full of shit steaming in a sweltering summer day, but we’re desperate. If we weren’t I’d be hard pressed to put on this stuffy merchant get-up and spend hours hauling this crap between walls. 

“You got lucky!” I say to myself. 

“Not even!” I respond. “Luck had nothing to do with it! I delivered the stable boy’s child and offered to muck out the stalls so he would have time with his family! The contents are well-earned payment THANK YOU VERY MUCH! NOW SOD OFF!!!!!”

I end the argument a little louder than I intended, earning me the attention of several sheep and one wide-eyed shepherd. I may have gotten a little carried away.

The truth is, I was beyond lucky, and I know it. It was hard work, but I would have done it anyway. I am nothing but grateful for the stable boy’s generosity, and therefore have no right to whine about such good fortune. 

On the other hand, it reeks and I’m going to complain all I want! 

Once I get to the market I stand by the cart and guard it with my life, putting on my most repulsed expression in order to play the part of the wealthy merchant forced to fraternize with such lowly peasants. This isn’t hard; five hours of the smell and the hollowness of my stomach are beginning to get the better of me. It’s a damn good thing this crap is expensive. They use it as fertilizer to rejuvenate fields where the nutrients have all but run out.

I take out my merchant license and check the dates on it. I’ve been using it for almost two years now, but it should be good for a while yet. Of course it’s not real, but it’s a beautiful forgery if I say so myself. After all, I made it and I haven’t been caught yet.

“I shouldn’t be so cocky,” I whisper to myself as I return it to my back pocket. “Pride comes before the fall.” 

I stand like a statue and wait for someone to approach me to trade money or food for my “merchandise”, but people simply avert their eyes. I hate when this happens. I can never tell if it’s my age or my demeanor. Although this time it might just be the smell. I crack a smile and nod at one of the noble women passing by. She nods to me in return before whispering to her friend, who is looking at baubles. A few seconds later, they turn and come to greet me. 

I swear, all women want is a smile and acknowledgment. That is literally all it takes sometimes. Then again, I suppose I’m not hard to look a; I’ve been called handsome more than once. And the scar on my cheek seems to add a touch of danger that intrigues women of a higher social status. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I’m so unapproachable: the damned scar.

I’m about to greet them when I feel the slightest tickle. Had I not been on edge, I might not have felt it at all. Had it been anyone else but me they wouldn’t have; this pick-pocket is a pro. I whip around and grab the thief’s wrist. I’m surprised to find the almost skeletal figure of a young girl. She has wild black hair and striking blue eyes with the hollow look indicating that they have seen more than they should; I see eyes like that everyday, set in the faces of those I care for and those that care for me. In every reflection; I know those eyes. Kings Court is the name of the street “gang” family I look after. I may be posing as a merchant named Nikkoli now, but to them I am their provider and friend, Creed.

She punches me in the jaw, making me realize that it had dropped open in surprise without my permission. This takes me by surprise, or at least it should. Maybe it’s because I would punch me too. It’s a weak punch; it hurts, but not like it should. She goes for a kick that I catch and then, suddenly, like a bad joke, I know the rest of the story.

 

The girls will run away; I will hold on to the writhing pickpocket until she runs out of energy. I will trade my cart full of manure for a cart full of squash, potatoes, a little meat, and five burlap sacks. I’ll fill one of the sacks with squash and potatoes to give to the girl along with the change in my pocket and a short speech about the importance of “fighting for survival until you can fight for the survival of others.”

Then I will go home (a five-hour trip filled with me guilt-tripping myself about leaving that poor girl on her own) and distribute the food to those in my district who need it before falling asleep with Carly, the youngest member of Kings Court, nestled under my arm and recovering from a bad dream.

One week later I’ll be on the other side of the city, visiting the stable boy and begging him for the chance to do it all again. He’ll be rocking his crying baby girl in a vain attempt to comfort her, and the district will be bustling but peaceful. This is when the titans will attack. Debris from the wall will crush the house; they will die instantly, and the baby will stop crying. I’ll be dizzy and bruised but alive when I finally crawl out of the wreckage. I will drag the mother, who was sleeping in the other room, out onto the street, but will leave her when I see the hole in her stomach. I’ll run and stumble my way across town trying to get home, slowly regaining a sense of reality when I reach it. It will crumbled in, but the majority of Kings Court will be alive; only Luke’s small body will be missing. A small hand, still wrapped around a burlap bear, will confirm my fears. 

I’ll find Carly, half under the house and screaming bloody murder. With help I’ll manage to lift the debris off of her, cradling her small body to me before running for the gate. Most of us will make it. Carly will die in my arms before we reach safety, but I will carry her corpse to the other side of the wall; I, along with the rest of the family, will mourn the loss of her and Luke for as long as we can before soldiers take her corpse away by force. The necklace she always wore will break and the beads will scatter. I will collect as many as I can and sew them into Luke’s bear before I once again play the role of provider. 

Five days later the rest of Kings Court will be forcefully ripped away and shipped throughout the nation because “a fifteen-year-old boy is not fit to care for seventeen children”. Soon after I’ll join the military under the new alias Itsuki. Then I will become a member of the Survey Corps, where I will go on many terrible adventures and earn my nickname: Red. I’ll be given a room on the highest floor in the Survey Corps castle.

But how do I know all this when I haven’t even let go of the pickpocket’s foot? Unless….

 

I wake up in a cold sweat, tangled in the blankets and with a fresh sense of self loathing and guilt coating my mouth and clinging to my skin. I brush my teeth and use the wash tub to try and wipe away what years spent saving lives can’t. I try to scrub away the images of the dead, the unnecessary guilt, the hopelessness that comes with fighting on what seems to be the losing side of a nearly endless war. The water cleanses. I rinse the sweat and blood away, soothing the bruises from the night before. In the end, the terrors of the night are replaced with images of those who were saved, hard-earned pride, and an optimism that comes from surviving to see the light of another day.

It’s dawn. With my morning routine complete and my body and mind rejuvenated, I am ready to greet the day like a nineteen-year-old man that can fly. Which is good since I will probably spend most of the day soaring through the air testing noobies. Today we get new recruits. Some say “fresh meat”. It’s too close to the truth for me to stomach. 

All these thoughts cross my mind while I clean up the fresh trail of clothes that lead up to my bed from the day before. I put on my formal military gear and the eyepatch I wear around new recruits and prepare for the next wave of young men and women who think they are “prepared to give their lives to the cause”.

I really hate that saying. I’m never quite sure which direction to take it. They’re ready to die? Or at least they think they are? They are devoted and ready to serve? They are prepared? None of these are accurate for 90% of new recruits, so I hate the saying on principle. 

I stand out at the training grounds and wait, remaining still as a statue as they get into a line. I can’t help but check for familiar faces: anyone from Kings Court. They aren’t my life anymore, but I still care enough to look. For the first time I see a familiar face, though I can't place it. It’s a short girl with slightly hollow cheeks (a sure sign of insufficient meals), slanted eyes, a snub nose heart-wrenchingly similar to Carly’s, and four freckles on the left side of her face. She has long, wild black hair; when she turns her head, I realize the left side is shaved close to her skull. 

Most captivating are her striking blue eyes.

I put her out of my head and tried to focus on the task at hand. Training the new recruits is going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switch

‘Why the hell is he looking at me? Got dirt on my nose of somethin’?’ I think distractedly, taking in the rather intimidating expression of one of the “honored and venerable” (means ‘kickass’, in case you weren’t sure) members of the Survey Corps. The man is hella intimidating; from what I can see of him (damn those uniforms) he’s riddled in scars. He’s got a doozy of a scratch down the left-hand side of his face, too, right underneath the eye; it’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone with injuries that don’t have the signature eoten-induced look to ‘em. I catalogue the rest of his appearance with a clinical interest: standard-issue black eyepatch over right socket, blond hair all over the place, blue eyes (‘Brrrr, baby, look at those icy peepers!’), tall frame, defined musculature (no doubt as a result from training), crisp uniform, light tan. Bit of a babe, honestly, but only if you go in for the eat-you-alive type. 

I decide not to do anything stupid in his presence, lest he kill me without blinking or something. A moment later I feel his gaze leave my back, and I let loose a quiet sigh of relief. Murphy’s Law indicates that anyone looking at you for too long intends to stab you; this train of thought has saved my skin many times in the past, as has my skill with a switchblade. I’ll have to be on my toes if I want to stay in the Survey Corps, lest they chew me up and spit me out. Uh, literally.

I staunchly attempt to ignore the fact that I’ve had a wedgie for the last ten minutes and an itch on my right shoulder for three. Also, a drink of water wouldn’t be amiss.

Sergeant Icy Peepers sedately makes his way to the front of the line we’ve formed, utilizing the sort of lazy grace often seen in panthers and other large predators. I forget about the wedgie and concentrate my full attention on not breathing too loudly and looking unimportant. The rest of the recruits, perhaps sensing his movements, still and go quiet. (‘Realizing the danger of the predator in their midst, the herd of young gazelle freeze, as per instinct, and contemplate the merits of sprinting like hell.’) 

He stands calmly at front-and-center, shoulders back and arms loosely folded across his chest. We wait, gazelle-like. 

“You will call me Sir, If you survive training you will have earned the right to call me Red. I will be in charge of you for the duration of your training in the Survey Corps. This means that, during this time, you will act thus. My goal, my job, is to make sure you make it out of training alive. I will fail.” He pauses for a long period of silence that stretches on as he looks each of us in the eye. When he meets my gaze I do my level best not to twitch and, judging from the look of confusion from the boy to my left, fail spectacularly.

“Things to keep in mind: any time you are in a situation where there is a threat you will take into account your own lives before those around you. It’s no use being a hero if you’re Titan chow. You will accept fear and respect it. You will respect the Titans because they are fear. I am 6’ 4”-”

‘Damn him,’ I think distractedly from my height of 5’3” ,’Damn him and all of his inches!’

-”That’s not even half the height of the smallest you will face,” he continues. “Finally, I want you to remember this: “Fight for survival until you can Fight for the survival of others.” 

‘Shit. I know EXACTLY where I’ve heard that before.’

I study Icy Peepers with new eyes and, now that I know what I’m looking for, recognize the features as identical to those of Manure Merchant. The hair, the scar, the build-

‘Nah,’ I decide. ‘SO unlikely.’

It’s been a while since I had the whole Pickpocketing Thing going on with Mr. Manure Merchant; more than likely I’m just being paranoid. Again. Anyways, Manure Merchant sure as hell didn’t have eyes like THAT. 

“Crazy, huh?” the kid to my left murmurs. I recognize him as the same one that noticed my spazz earlier and almost immediately get distracted by his ears, which sort of remind me of fleshy tea cups.

“What’s crazy?” I inquire, trying to force my eyes to look at ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE EARS HE’S GOING TO NOTICE I’M LOOKING NEED TO FOCUS NOW. 

“The veteran Survey Corps members. I’ve been told that they’re all a bit...unusual, but actually seeing them face-to-face really drives the point home. The guy’s kind of intimidating, isn’t he? Sure didn’t sound all that optimistic about our chances for survival.” 

“Probably because we’re all going to die,” I say pleasantly, pleased that someone is talking to me. He sends me a mildly alarmed expression, then chuckles nervously. ‘What did I say?’

“That’s not the way to look at things,” he says, still laughing a bit. “You’ve got to at least have a bit of hope. What will keep you keep fighting otherwise?” 

Hmm...trick question. I joined the Survey Corps because they’re the branch of the military known for their unorthodox views; I’ve always had trouble understanding what is or isn’t ‘normal’ in society’s eyes, so I’m less likely to stand out here than at, say, the Police branch. The reason I joined the military at all was because I didn’t really have anything else to do; No Fingers and the rest of the street kids I grew up with were assigned to work in the fields, so it’s not like I have anyone waiting for me. Pickpocketing is hard enough even with someone else to serve as a distraction, but thieving on your lonesome is downright dangerous when you’re as tiny as I am. Without the boys to back me up, the fights that inevitably occur when someone catches me thumbing their valuables normally ends up with me having to resort to drawing my blade. I’d much rather have the boys intimidate anyone planning to beat me down for my ‘lifting’ skills’ into submission than be forced to knife some poor sod with anger management issues on the street because he underestimated me. 

Plus, if I manage to rise up in the ranks I might have a better chance of taking down the government from the inside-out. A girl has to follow her dreams, after all.

“I fight for freedom,” I respond mildly, because that’s the sort of thing they eat up around here and Momma didn’t raise no fool. Sure enough, he looks impressed. “What do you fight for?” I inquire idly. 

“I fight to kill the eoten,” Teacup Ears says nobly.

Blood blood blood, screams and the scent of burning flesh-

“Adrianna, let’s go!”

An enormous grinning head, rictus of a smile stretching the skin taut across its face as it curls fingers the size of trees around a screaming woman-

“My,” I whisper, gazing up, up, up. “What big teeth you have.” 

“Yeah,” I say thoughtfully, “they are kind of annoying.”

He gives me another look, but my attention’s already shifted back to Icy Peepers, who appears to be quietly conversing with another high-ranking Survey Corp member off to the side. I can tell the man’s important; he’s got a lot of patches on the sleeves of his uniform, and that always seems to mean something. 

As if sensing my gaze on him he glances up sharply, eyes piercing through the yards between us and locking me into place. I switch my sights over to Teacup Ears and play gazelle.

Moments later he turns back to the conversation; I sneak another look. The other sergeant has a rather pinched expression and a mop of sleek black hair. He’s also a hell of a lot shorter than Icy Peepers; I feel camaraderie flow between us, even if he’s unaware of it, for we are short but proud. 

“That’s THE high-ranking soldier, Levi,” Teacup Ears whispers, tilting his head slightly towards mine and lowering his voice. Perhaps he fears if he speaks too loud Levi will hear him and rip out his vocal cords. Judging from the way the man holds himself, his caution is probably justified. “He’s Humanity’s Greatest Weapon.”

“He sort of reminds me of this cat I used to know,” I comment. “She bit me, once. It was really adorable.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I take that as permission to continue.

“I used to sneak her scraps. She was a blackish color, and she would bring me the heads of little mice, which was very disgusting. I used to have to dig them little mouse graves in one of the back allies. Mom said that dead mice are how cats show their love, though, so I only got rid of them after she had gone exploring again and couldn’t see.”

Teacup Ears makes a funny sort of choking noise. I shush him, because I wasn’t done talking and it’s rude to interrupt.

“His hair is sort of the same color as her fur in the right light, and he has a similar sort of expression. Sort of like he knows he’s the best hunter on the street, and also maybe like he puts up with a lot-she always made a face like that when I tried to play dress up with her-but he doesn’t mind enough to actually kill someone because of it. Also, he’s sort of adorable. Look.”

Teacup Ears studies him for a moment before seemingly coming back to himself. “I, ah, don’t think you should say that in front of Levi. Or anyone, actually.” He scrubs his hand awkwardly through his fluffy brown hair, seemingly choosing his words carefully. 

“Why?”

“Because! He’s, ah...sensitive. You might hurt his feelings.”

“Why would it hurt his feelings?”

“He...doesn’t like cats?”

“Oh,” I mumble, eyes widening. I can’t possibly tell the man now; I wouldn’t want him to be offended. Some people are just more dog-inclined, after all; it isn’t his fault that he looks like a feline. Despite this, I mentally dub him Mittens; sensitive or no, if the shoe fits….

* * *

The mess hall is crowded. As a kid that spent the majority of her life sleeping either behind dumpsters in abandoned alleyways or on the roofs of village houses, being pushed into a confined area filled with elbows and laughter and PEOPLE is a bit overwhelming. At the moment, I am sharing a table with two other people, both of which have taken their seats across from me. They keep talking to each other. I don’t like it.

“Hey, you again,” comes a surprised voice to my right. I twist around just as Teacup Ears takes the empty seat next to me. He’s got a weak chin, but you can’t tell when he smiles. Nice set of teeth on the guy.

“Teacup,” I respond, then add a quick word of thanks when I snag his drink. The people across from us have stopped to stare; I christen them Gawker and Meathead. Teacup looks stymied for a brief moment but recovers from my impromptu drink theft admirably. 

“Nicholas Berbing, actually. I never caught your name.”

I lick him. He seizes violently.

“You don’t taste like a Nicholas. I’m Switch.” 

“Ah,” he stutters, face flushing. “I see. Uh, do you have a last name?”

“I lost it,” I gargle out through the bread hunk I just stuck in my mouth. “Tragic, really, but can’t be helped.”

Gawker and Meathead, who have now recovered from the sudden fit of laughter an uncontrollable guffaws that licking someone apparently instills in them, are now watching in avid interest. I glare at them.

“Gawker, Meathead. Go away. This is not your conversation, you rude motherfuckers.”

“Excuse me?” Meathead snorts, looking faintly amused. Gawker shoots daggers at me with her eyes, but I’m not worried; if need be, I can shoot actual daggers at her vital spots. 

“This is James and Sydney,” Teacup adds (completely irrelevantly, as they already have names that suit them loads better). “They’re mates of mine from my home district. We entered training together.” It’s odd. People normally don’t talk to me for this long. I’m not sure WHY; maybe I smell funny?

Meathead/James grins at me (bared teeth, sign of aggression, remember to punch him in the kidney later as a warning). He has a lot of freckles; they’ve seemed to sort of spread all over him like little flakes of cayenne pepper. He has reddish hair, too, which almost seems to make them stand out more. Judging by the length of his gangly limbs, I’d say he could even give Icy Peepers a run for his money in the height department. I vow to hate him on principle.

Gawker/Sydney scoffs and flicks a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as Peeper’s are, but they have a different look to them. Maybe she hasn’t seen as much. There are concentric circles tattooed on the tops of her eyelids; I deliberate between keeping her as Gawker or renaming her as Bullseye (even has eye in the word, it would be BRILLIANT). 

Teacup has the same fluffy brown hair as before. This is good, because it sort of reminds me of dandelion seeds, and it would be kind of depressing if he managed to lose it. His eyes are a muddy brown. His ears still look like fleshy beverage-holders. 

“Please go die,” I say in a companionable sort of way. They look highly offended, and I count the entire thing as a job well done. 

“That’s not very nice,” Teacup says, though he doesn’t sound very bothered. I’m confused.

“It isn’t?” They look visibly startled. 

“No,” he replies carefully. “It-”

“Why are you wasting your time on the crazy freak? She’ll be dead soon, anyway; you know her type never lasts long in an actual battle,” Gawker snaps crossly. “You shouldn’t get attached.”

“Sydney!”

“Don’t say that sort of thing! And she’s not crazy, she’s just...different.”

Well, I don’t know about that. 

“Is Colonel Mittens going to be staying to teach us?” I wonder aloud, effectively derailing the argument in the smoothest, suavest way possible. “Where is he, anyway? I thought he was with him.”

“What?” Meathead ventures, following my finger to look at the entrance of the mess hall.

Icy Peepers scans the room with sharp eyes, posture forcibly relaxed, and begins to thread his way through the throng. I steal a piece of Sydney’s bread while she’s not looking. This turns out to be a tragic mistake, as only instants later karma goes into effect and drags the intimidating form of our standing officer into the seat next to Teacup.

I chew Sydney’s bread as inconspicuously as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been abandoned. Unless I get people whop want this fic to continue I will probably just let it die.

I stare down the new recruits, watching them squirm or go rigid beneath my gaze. I’m about to launch into instructions for the rest of the day and then tomorrow when Levi appears from above. I try to ignore him, but he positions himself right between the recruits and me. 

I glare in response to the smug smile he wears. I always wonder if other people get to see this side of him. I can practically see a tail flicking back and forth, like a barn cat about ready to pounce. 

Sure enough, his face loses it’s humor and he pops up to grab the back of my neck and pull me down to his level. 

“What do you want Levi? Can’t you see I have new charges to look after?” I ask, loading every word with a dose of the annoyance I should be feeling. Nevertheless, I can’t help hoping he’s got news that’ll get me out of ordering around the newbies.

“In fact I can. You wearing an eyepatch is a dead give away. They need three highly trained combatants to help with wall repair. I told them you and I would be worth ten. We have to be at the wall in 15 minutes.” While Levi is talking I turn my attention back to the group. I feel like I’m being watched. 

Lo and behold, the girl that caught my eye earlier is staring right at me. I respond with more of the same, letting every ounce of coldness saturate my expression and harden my eyes until she turns away. I hate this.

“Give them the night off and hop to it soldier. We’ll be back by dinner. You can tell them about tomorrow's schedule then. Come on, I’ll let you play ‘lone wolf’!” That gets my attention. He claps my shoulder before soaring into the distance towards the wall.

I want to throw a tantrum. I was supposed to have the day off damn it! I settle for a groan that sounds more like a deep growl. Despite my actions, I feel an uncontrollable giddiness bubbling within me. 

“You’re free to go. You have the rest of the day off,” I growl out before I, too, rocket away towards the wall. 

I reach the wall just in time to see Levi dive over the edge. I follow suit; he’s sprawled about 3 meters below me. I swan dive head first to catch up with him. He watches me approach, and we freefall for the next 20 meters before attaching to the wall. We perch on the side while we determine the threat level. There are roughly three titans that could potentially pose a threat. We signal for the repair crew to descend and begin work. 

“No heroics today, ok Red?” Levi teases. “That means no jumping into titans mouths or any of your other antics, got it?”

I laugh and stash the eyepatch in my back pocket along with the strict badass sergeant façade. With Levi I can let go of all responsibility and let myself act the part of the younger soldier. If anything goes wrong it’s on him. It’ll be his cross to bear; I get to be guilt-free in my lone wolf role. It’s the one time I’m truly free; I only have my own life weighing on my soul. He will stay with the crew. I get to play, roaming around and eliminating any titans that get too close. 

“Last time I checked you tend to appreciate my “antics” and “heroics”, especially recklessly diving down titans throats.” I wink as I release my gear and push off of the wall without waiting for his reaction. 

I free fall, facing the sky for as long as I dare. Ten meters from the ground I shoot a wire at the wall to turn myself around, then release and shoot the other at the building leading to the two smallest titans. I’ve made short, clean work of the first when I hear screams farther into the city. I contort my body into a spin and completely sever a titan’s head. Then I stand on his shoulders as he begins to fall before stepping onto the roof. 

They must have thought it was more dangerous than they let on and sent out a bait squad ahead of us. I glance up at Levi and get the go-ahead to leave my post in favor of the bait squads lives’. 

Gone is the carefree boy, weightless and soaring. I am once again burdened with the well-being of others. As I swing through the city towards the screams of pain and terror I simultaneously curse them for ruining my fun and pray for their safety.

What I had assumed was a survey corps bait squad is actually 9-10 brand new Garrison recruits. 

My stomach drops. They undoubtedly came in on a dare or something equally stupid, not realizing how woefully unprepared they were. I urge the machinery to move faster, my skin burning white hot, my vision tunneling. I am only conscious of pinpricks of light because my pupils have contracted so drastically. 

Before me there is one goal and one outcome. I pursue it with an animalistic drive, swinging recklessly between buildings until I reach the sight of the blood bath. Even then I don’t take time to pause and take it in. Instead I set into a spiral attack aimed at the closest titan. With each rotation I’m granted a frame of the scene. Five cower around a chimney staring at the girl hanging out of my targets mouth. My blades hit their mark with such a force the head is completely severed. 

I let myself freefall and snatch the girl less than a meter from the ground. Her abdomen has been punctured by the titan’s canines, and she is missing the bottom half of her right leg. It’s her reward for her “bravery”. Unceremoniously I deposit her with the five on the roof. “Tourniquet that leg and she’ll live,” I scream before rocketing to the next set of numbskulls. 

Here the titans are more concentrated, but the recruits are fighting. A boy with jet black hair is grabbed while his focus is on the wrong titan. I chop off the hand on impulse and it releases him without taking construction into consideration. 

The titans have weakened the supporting wall that I used to change direction; during the downswing it gives. I curl into a ball with my arms curled protectively around my head and roll/skid across the uneven cobblestone. Debris falls around me. Still in ball form I send my wire into the forehead of the now one-handed titan, flying past his left ear. Gravity does the rest, and he falls on top of his much smaller companion, pinning him. The last one is staring blankly at the boy I saved and is eradicated almost too easily, collapsing on the building where the group is cowering and forcing them to scatter like rats beneath a boot. 

I return to the first group, the rats following close behind. I land hard on the roof. My balance is off. Come to think of it I’m a bit dizzy. But I’m going to attribute that to the blinding rage that I’m failing to control. 

The survivors are greeting each other, hugging one another and crying huge crocodile tears in a heartwarming moment. The concern and relief on their faces succeeds in breaking whatever level of control I’d been attempting to maintain.

“Do you have any idea how fucking lucky you are?” I say quietly. They turn their wide, glossy eyes on me. “I can’t imagine what was going through your idiotic heads. I don’t want to. It’d probably rot my brain!” I feel myself start to smile as my voice begins to rise. I’m dangerously close to yelling now. “You know, what’s truly sad about this is only one of you fought to live. THOSE THAT DON’T FIGHT FOR THEIR OWN SURVIVAL HAVE NO RIGHT TO THOSE BADGES!” 

‘What’s worse than dangerously close to yelling?’ part of my brain wonders. Because I’ve passed that. I’ve started screaming at the top of my lungs, every muscle in my face and throat straining and adrenaline infused. My smile must look psychotic, but I can’t seem to get rid of it.

“TELL ME YOU THINK YOU DESERVE TO LIVE BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU CAN’T CONVINCE YOURSELVES THERE’S NO WAY IN HELL YOU’RE GONNA CONVINCE ME! AND TRUST ME KIDDOS THIS IS HELL!!” 

Levi lays a hand on my shoulder, snapping me back to reality and grounding me. His touch saps what little energy I had stored. He’s brought a medical crew and backup: smart.

My calm recovered, I continue, “You had better start taking the frailty of your lives into consideration; remember that no one is immortal. I’ll be checking in with you by the end of the week. Until then, spend some time coming up with reasons as to why I should risk my life for any of yours. Why you have the right to demand I should die for you.” And with that Levi and I maneuver away and out of sight. 

I know I was harsh. But guilt, like fear, has the ability to either create purpose and drive or defeat the person. Either way, it’ll improve their survival rate. 

Two blocks before the wall my foot slips on a loose shingle and I fall flat on my face. Normally I might do something sensible like, I don’t know, get up maybe. Not right now though. Right now the cold roof feels good so I lie there not daring to even breath in fear of messing up the perfection of the moment. That is until Levi backtracks for me. 

My eyes rotate in their sockets to stare up at him. Instead of pity or sympathy he’s laughing at me. “Where’s that unearthly grace now?” he mocks. I decide the energy it takes to flip him off is worth it.

He helps me to my feet, a flash of concern touching his usually emotionless eyes. But it’s gone without a trace a second later, and I’m left wondering if I’m imagining things. 

“I can’t believe the infinite stupidity new recruits possess!” I grumble, kicking another loose shingle. 

“That’s how old you were when I first met you, remember? You were barely older than them when you became a legend.” 

“And you still give me crap for my recklessness back then,” I retaliate. My voice sounds gravely after screaming at the Nimrods. 

“Hell, I plan to give you crap for your recklessness now.” The ball has been lobbed back to my court and I have no response worth saying. Instead I leave him standing there and climb the wall as fast as I can manage, then wait for him on the roof. The climb clears my head a fraction more, and I remember I still have to talk to my recruits about tomorrow’s itinerary. 

Normally, Levi and I would acquire a couple bottles of whatever alcohol was readily available and clean our wounds before downing the rest. I hate the taste, but the effect is worth it after a night like this. Unfortunately, that’s not an option for me tonight.

“After you fill in your recruits you should let the infirmary take a look at you,” Levi suggests. I’m about to respond when he shoves a canteen into my stomach. With an eyeroll to let him know how childish he is I nod at his suggestion and accept the water. After a few quenching swigs I hand it back and wipe my mouth. 

I give him a sarcastic salute and a wink before trust-falling off the wall. I deploy my gear much earlier this time though. I’m still dizzy. I make a mental note to add 5 tallies to the tkc(titan kill count) tattooed on my right foot and head straight for the dining hall.

 

* * *

 

I stop to drop my gear off in the mess hall lockers and and am about to change my shirt in an attempt at some sense of normalcy when Bri, the other recruit captain, spots me on her way out.

“Do you need help there ‘Bloodbath’?” she asks sweetly.

Ffffffffuuuu….I hate that nickname…. “I think I can manage changing my own shirt, but thanks for the offer. Perhaps I’ll take you up on it in a more private setting,” I tease. 

She ignores me and helps out anyway, peeling the blood-soaked cotton off my bare skin. I towel off and begin to scavenge for a new shirt in the lost and found while she rinses out my soiled one.

Just as I’ve found a shirt that looks like it’d fit ,searing pain prickles my back. I whip around to find Bri holding a bottle of cheap liquor. Sadistic bitch is trying to kill me under the guise of sterilizing open wounds. I growl at her and walk out of the room still shirtless without a word. On my way down the corridor to the dining hall I pull the shirt over my head and put on the eyepatch before grabbing a roll.

I’m already beginning to feel the side-effects of ninja rolling over rocks and try to relax the stiffening muscles as I scan for my recruits. The first one to catch my eye is the wild-haired girl. 

So I make my way towards her group, stopping at every high ranking officer and recruit trainer to spread the word about tomorrow’s itinerary.

Finally I make it to her table. She’s with 3 other recruits; I plant myself next to the brunette boy next to her. He goes rigid ,and she shoves the piece of bread she stole from the blonde girl into her mouth. Blondy looks like she’s about to cry. Usually I hate having such an effect on new recruits, but right now I’m finding it rather satisfying in the most sadistic sense of the word. I had planned on simply explaining the schedule and leaving. But now... I decide to terrorize them just a bit longer.

“Did you enjoy your free time?” I ask, my voice still raspy and deep from lecturing. This must make me even more intimidating, because the boy next to Blondy jumps at the question.

I should really learn their names, but that’s too personal. I’ll give them numbers until they earn their names by officially joining our ranks.

After a minute of waiting for an answer I give up on this lot. They will never be worth anything fighting titans if I can make them wet their pants so easily. Only Wild One(mentally dubbed Wild 1… because I’m clever like that) seems unaffected by my existence. On the other hand, I’m not sure if she’s aware of me at all. After I sat down she seemed to space out.

“I expect all of you at the obstacle course at 8 am tomorrow. If you are late you lose your right to opt out of additional training after hours. You don’t want that I promise.” After ‘promise’ I tear off a peice of bread with my teeth, partially as emphasis, but mostly because I’m famished. 

“May I be excused?” Squeaks the boy to my left. I shall name him 2 and he shall be my 2. He’s barely eaten anything, but who am I to judge? 

“That’s a decision you make for yourself. I couldn’t care less what you do.” 

He gets up awkwardly, making an unnecessary effort to not touch me. The others (I’ll call the blonde 3 and her boyfriend 4) follow suit without worrying about asking. 3 and 4 have finished their dinner, so when they take their empty trays there’s no protest. However, Wild 1 stops 2 from removing his tray. “Are you going to eat that?” she asks with wide eyes. He shakes his head and abandons the tray to her hungry stare. 

Without realizing it I stare, observing her every action with fascination.


End file.
